


Wedding Anniversary

by limeta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Morning Routines, Old Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26567314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeta/pseuds/limeta
Summary: Abraxas and Voldemort celebrate their wedding anniversary. Much alike any crotetchy old couple they argue the entire time. But that just happens to be their love language so it's fine.
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Wedding Anniversary

Mornings were not for everyone. So, it was very unfortunate that people had to start being productive in them. Though, for those who _could be_ productive in the morning, it was incredibly hilarious to just watch those who _couldn’t be_ productive mingle about like they didn’t know what was happening.

Abraxas Malfoy looked lovingly at his husband of many, many years. He clasped his hands gently over his lap and said to him: ’’Happy anniversary, mon chou.’’

Mon chou, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, woke up groggily from whatever dream he’d cooked up for his own personal enjoyment. Being a legilimens did help a lot with lucid dreaming. Like a cat he stretched over the bed, running his hand gently over the smooth, wonderful linen. His pillow had just wandered off somewhere – perhaps he’d spelled it in his sleep. It was something that had happened a couple of times before. ’’Gmorning.’’ He had not yet turned his brain on so his voice came out half parseltongue half cockney. Abraxas, sitting on the chaise longue straight across from the four poster bed, leaned back and watched the man try to wake up properly. A morning person he was not. It was the oddest thing everyone had learned about their lord.

He woke up at five am during Hogwarts to study and to read every morning for seven years straight. He woke up even earlier, almost electing not to sleep during the Civil War in the 1970s, in order to lead his side into victory. Everyone just assumed, given how it was a productive thing to do to wake up in the morning, that their lord happened to be blessed by the gods and be given the trait of: morning person.

It was obvious that Lord Voldemort was a private person, then, because only Abraxas knew the other side of him where the man had to be pushed out of bed to get moving, had to set five alarms in the morning (each louder and more judgemental than the last) in order to feel bothered about his life, and had to have picked out his wardrobe the night before else he was definitely going to fall right back asleep in his closet. And... Abraxas had worked so gosh darn hard to get Voldemort to come out of the closet, he didn’t want him to go back in one under any circumstances.

’’You know, I have wonderful things planned for us today.’’ Abraxas said. He had drunk his coffee already and eaten his croissant and was now gleefully watching the love of his life tumble out of bed and look back at its warm embrace as if they would never join after this departure.

Voldemort ran his hand one last time over the bed as a goodbye, realising that he had to get up and that, no, he couldn’t just sleep for forever because that phenomenon was called being dead – and he, very ironically, had worked his arse off to remain not-dead. It was the little things in life that Abraxas quite enjoyed about his contrary husband.

All of their menial tasks and meetings had been delegated to both Thoros Nott and Bellatrix Black respectively. Abraxas’ silver eyes glowed when he saw Voldemort emerge from the bathroom, his hair wet and his face still drenched. His eyes were red but Abraxas did remember a time when he had had fewer horcruxes and browner eyes. Most people saw these red eyes as monstrous and terrifying. Abraxas just saw them as fairly annoying, especially when they looked through them.

He clapped his hands together and the eyes focused on him and the noise that had come from Abraxas. Still, his husband had yet to speak a single word more. Slowly he blinked and yawned into his hand, deciding to look around the room for what he was going to wear. He spotted a robe from the night before he’d set out and took it. After putting it on he decided to look for what shoes he could wear.

Abraxas watched all of this go down with the smuggest expression. Here he was, fully dressed in his peacock feathered robes, with golden pointed shoes, and rings on his fingers far more expensive than what the Minister got paid in four years, watching the love of his life be the mess that nobody knew he was. And it was exhilarating.

Because everyone thought Abraxas was the mess of the relationship. With the way he nonchalantly had 125 peafowls, just haphazardly existed as a being of pure chaos, and was famous for taking down Lord Voldemort during his stupidest and most useless endeavour during the Civil War. At the time it had seemed a bit traumatic and genuinely distressing to see usually affectionate Abraxas Malfoy body slam into Lord Voldemort and then fight like unruly children, but it was necessary.

Lord Voldemort finally spoke, fully dressed and blinking the last remnants of sleep away. ’’Happy anniversary, dear Abbie.’’

Abraxas smiled happily at the pet name, always growing fond of it. Voldemort wasn’t the affectionate type, what with growing up repressed in a muggle orphanage. So, any effort that Voldemort made into being fonder and showing his love was appreciated and seen. Otherwise the big drama queen grew offended and vowed never to be affectionate again because people did not appreciate him. Abraxas was yet to crack down on what Voldemort’s love language was, but he was sure that it was lying in bed and giving him all of the blankets without putting up any sort of fight. The man bloody kicked in his sleep and stole them if you didn’t give them to him when he tugged the first couple of times.

’’Are you ready to face society?’’ Abraxas stood from the chaise longue and stretched. He towered over Voldemort by a head, what with the man’s unfortunate childhood and lack of adequate food and Abraxas’ love for quidditch.

’’Why, what did you plan?’’

Abraxas loved the defensiveness. It was like he was going to lead the man to be tortured. ’’It never ceases to amaze me, mon chou, how little you trust a man you married.’’

’’You asked me to marry you while I was half-asleep. I still haven’t fully woken up. When I do I shall ask for a divorce.’’ 

Abraxas chortled at this and replied that Voldemort better watch himself. ’’Divorce me all you like; I knew making you sign that preen up was a wise decision.’’ Then he winked.

Voldemort’s sigh sounded aggravated. It wasn’t. It was fond and annoyed at the same time. ’’All right, Abraxas.’’

They finally exited the master bedroom in Malfoy Manor (much to Lucius and Narcissa’s dismay not to have access to it) and faced society with their heads held high and their mental capacity operating at varying degrees.

’’Does your anniversary plan involve coffee?’’

’’It involves bloody energy drinks if it’ll make you more animated.’’

Voldemort looked loved. ’’You’d get me a red bull?’’

Draco and his escapades into the muggle world as signs of rebellion had definitely bolstered Voldemort’s caffeine addiction. He was his main enabler to keep going into the muggle world with Astoria. And then he used this as an excuse, saying that if the ruddy Dark Lord didn’t have a problem with him wanting to see what the muggle world offered than it wasn’t anyone’s business.

’’I saw one of those Guaranas in Draco’s bag recently. Do you like those? One of them had a very funny name.’’ Abraxas’ voice turned sultry and seductive: _’’Aphordisiac_.’’

Voldemort snorted and pushed Abraxas off when the man leaned into Voldemort’s body. ’’Get off of me.’’ Abraxas wouldn’t. Voldemort laughed and pretended to shove at Abraxas next. ’’You are an idiot of inexplicable proportions.’’

’’Out of the two of us, hmmmmmm, who is it that almost made a lfie-changing error that could have cost him his life and fortune in 1981?’’

Voldemort sighed.

Abraxas continued, his voice going up in sheer glee. ’’Aaaand out of the two of us who is it that – albeit I do admit it was uncalled for to just lock you up in a basement for a week – but I STOPPED YOU FROM NEEDLESSLY DYING!’’

’’Ha, joke’s on you, Abraxas! I cannot die.’’

’’Math told me you would have died and out of the three of us math has never lied to me.’’

Voldemort wouldn’t let this slide. He began defending Divination. ’’Just because Trelawney wasn’t a viable seer does not mean that Divination is not a fine and well respected branch of magic-’’

Abraxas bemoaned ever marrying Voldemort. ’’How can you excuse Divination? Why would anyone be so dumb to believe in LEAVES?’’

If anyone dared to say hello to either Voldemort or Abraxas they would soon find that it was better to leave them be as they were entangled in an academic debate.

’’Leaves? That is the same way as if I would ask you why you would be so foolish to believe that a number can foretell my whole future.’’

Abraxas Malfoy grinned then. ’’Bold words from Mr. Seven is the most magical number!’’

’’I stopped!’’

’’Because I locked you up in a basement!’’

’’Will you ever let me forget about the damned basement it’s been 40 years and you mention it every time we argue about something. Yes, I understand that you saved my life and ensured that I would win the war by knocking me out cold. Still, it does not give you the right to be so high and mighty about everything. Because out of the two of us – who is it that, hmmmmmm, **_hmmmmmmm_** -’’

’’Don’t.’’ Abraxas realised, quickly panicking, that Voldemort was not an individual one wanted to mess with, ’’Don’t you dare – DON’T YOU DARE!’’

The thing that Voldemort brought up then was so humiliating for Abraxas Malfoy and his status as an individual with a functioning brain that he swore that he was going to stop speaking to Voldemort. ’’I am going to leave you! I am going to go to Japan or whatever else country tycoons like me can prosper in and I am going to simply never speak to you again. This was uncalled for!’’

’’Did I save you? I think I saved you!’’ Voldemort leaned into Abraxas then and laughed. His voice was a beautiful rich sound that usually Abraxas liked. Here it irritated him. ’’I think you’ve never been that close to ending the respectable name of Malfoy than you were in that exact moment in Vegas.’’

’’What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas!’’ Abraxas wished that Voldemort had never woken up. He was cutthroat the first couple of minutes after his brain finally turned on.

Their conversation continued as they moved finally from Malfoy Manor to Diagon Alley via Floo. Only for a brief moment to say Diagon Alley did they stop speaking about Divination vs Arithmancy. It was an ancient debate that Lucius swore had been a household favourite when he was a child. Draco said that he remembered that he had to side at age five whether he liked math more or fun dreams. Abraxas, it was gossiped, still didn’t forgive Draco for such a betrayal.

While in Diagon Alley they paid their surroundings little to no mind. There were people who stared in awe at their sovereign, their lord, their mighty Dark Lord and supreme leader. They almost came up to him to say hello. Almost. They were wise in that regard where they noticed that he was heatedly debating something with his husband.

’’Look!’’ Abraxas cut their debate short. He was pointing at a dingy café that had seen much better days somewhere in the 18th century. Because not even in the 20th century when Abraxas and Voldemort first sat in it had it looked like it was worth their time of day.

Voldemort’s smile framed his face wonderfully. He said softly: ’’You are a romantic til your dying breath, I see.’’

Abraxas, before quickly running to a table to claim their seats, pecked Voldemort’s lips with his own and winked again, neither denying nor agreeing with the previous claim.

When they finall sat down at their table they were given menus with a shaky, shaky hand. Because this wasn’t a cafe that had ever seen the likes of someone as influential as the Dark Lord and Lord Malfoy.

’’What would you like to drink?’’ They said that unfortunately they did not serve food.

Voldemort ordered a coffee with milk and asked for that whole box of sugar to be brought over. Abraxas ordered a monstrosity with whipped cream and ordered that the milk be heated at a specific degree for a certain amount of time.

Soon their orders arrived and Voldemort oh so casually began opening up the sugar packets and dumping them all in the coffee which Abraxas lovingly called: ’’I think it would have been easier to just order milk and add a drop of coffee to your impending sugar high.’’

’’I am in my nineties, if I can still get a sugar high I am living large.’’

’’You’re immortal, therefore an infant, which means that you can get sugar high.’’

’’And you’re a crotchety old man I am tolerating only because when you die I become filthy rich. I am playing the long game here!’’

This café was terrible and absolutely nobody except broke shop-keeps overworked in the 1940s came here with their rich and dashing boyfriends. So, for their anniversary, these two aforementioned folks wanted to re-enact their first date.

’’The long con? Someone with your lack of finesse and patience! Don’t be ridiculous.’’

The waiter didn’t know whether they were allowed to come up to them and ask if they wanted something or if they would be annihilated if they dared to interrupt what was obviously an intimate moment where one person just so happened to be speaking like a peacock being skinned alive.

’’Do you want to get diabetes is what I’m wondering here! Do you know how little you’ll get out of eternity if you have to take insulin – what if you forget? You already forget to take-’’

’’And you are here, the paragon of remembering, having the audacity to talk to me after you forgot your name for a full day.’’

’’I WAS CONFOUNDED!’’

Voldemort shook his head slowly. ’’And he keeps lying to himself, too.’’ He whispered and placed a hand over his heart.

At the end of whatever this damned thing was, Voldemort and Abraxas tipped heftily because they weren’t cheap cunts. Not anymore, anyhow.


End file.
